


Carnevale

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angel Wings, Carnival, Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, Masks, Venezia | Venice, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Castiel has been stationed in the city of Venice for hundreds of years. It is a lonely, quiet existence, lived out in the shadows of better days, like one of the stone angels standing watch over the Piazza San Marco. Castiel loves Carnevale because it is the only time he can mingle with humanity; the only time he can unfold his wings. In the darkened streets of the city, among the crowds and revelry, a chance encounter with a green-eyed man behind a servetta muta mask makes Castiel question everything he knows about faith, hope, and love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 66
Kudos: 57





	1. Opening Night

The lights went out.

The stars, such as they were, glittered for a moment in the sky.

In a passageway, empty for a moment, the angel spread black wings where the feathers touched the stone. 

It would not be empty for long.

The stars would not be the mistresses of the sky for more than a moment.

But Castiel loved the chance to spread his wings.

A gloved hand raised a white mask, embellished with golden scrollwork and gemstones.

A black velvet cloak swirled around him as the fireworks began, drowning out the stars.

Castiel had been here a long, long time.

From the first beginnings of this celebration in this ancient city, when the party lasted for months at a time.

The cool porcelain of the mask against his skin.

The crowds that began to pour down the passageway, exclaiming over his "costume".

Behind the mask, Castiel smiled.

Carnevale, eternal Carnevale, had once again begun.


	2. The Man Without A Face

The night crowds were raucous, filled with noise and masks and the jubilation of the people.

Castiel's were not even the only angel wings in the crowd.

He felt relatively certain, however, that his were the only ones that were real.

He scanned the crowd, searching.

There were other reasons he liked Carnevale.

After several centuries, Castiel would find his own earthly delights.

***

The market stalls filled with Carnevale cakes drew almost as many crowds as the fireworks. 

Castiel had never found these to be delicious, but then being unable to partake in the joys of human food was one of his punishments.

That was how he saw it, anyway.

Punishment for what, he had yet to discover. He certainly didn't remember any transgressions.

One day, he had been in Heaven;

the next, perched on the edge of a church's stonework, with no explanation.

So he had spent centuries searching, but had never found an answer.

Since those days, he had certainly participated in acts of transgression;

at first, for the sake of rebellion,

then sadness,

now joy.

There were some human experiences he had grown fond of over the years.

At one point, Carnevale lasted for six months of the year. There were more prostitutes in Venice than citizens. Castiel had tasted of many, but he latterly found that his preference was for those humans who made the choice willingly, without pay.

Still, he thanked those women and men for an education he found useful.

Above all, Castiel was lonely.

And he yearned for a wisp of the thing that was called Love, he recalled from Heaven so long ago.

The memory of the place had faded, like a worn page in a book.

But Love -

that one thing that angels and humans shared alike -

burned bright in his memory,

in his heart, in what he might have called his soul, if he hadn't known better -

that was the thing of gold, 

that warmed him in the memory of its flame.

Now, as he stood near one of the booths piled high with Carnevale cakes, as the fireworks went off over Venice and colored the ancient stone in reds and greens, Castiel's attention was arrested by a man in a strange mask.

It was a golden _moretta,_ also called a _servetta muta -_ the mute servant woman. These masks had long been worn by patrician women, but it had been an age since he had seen one - and never on a man. They gave the impression of the face being cut out, like there was only a hole left where the face should be. 

Most interestingly, the mask was not affixed behind the head with a ribbon, as most masks were. The wearer had to put a bit into their mouth in order to hold it in place, hence the name.

Bright green eyes danced behind the mask, illuminated by the latest firework. Castiel saw the man looking at his great black wings.

_Perfect._

The angel turned, and murmured a few words in Italian to the vendor. He nodded, and disappeared for a moment.

"I would be honored if you would do me the pleasure of joining me for the evening," said Castiel to the green-eyed man in the mask.

He knew the man could not respond in words, but the quick once-over the green-eyed man gave him told him everything he needed to know.

Carnevale was about the discreet pleasures of the flesh, after all.

The vendor returned with a glass like a fishbowl, balanced on a short stem. Inside the enormous glass floated Italian spumante, chantilly whipped cream, and strawberries.

"I'd like to share with you," said Castiel. He watched the green-eyed man's eyes widen, taking in the dessert. "If you'd let me."

The man nodded once, sharply.

Castiel turned, and led him to his rooms.

***

They climbed the stairs in silence, Castiel's companion out of necessity.

The angel produced an ancient iron skeleton key, and turned the tumblers in the lock.

The door swung open, and he ushered the man inside.

The room was the usual Venetian affair. The high ceilings and soaring arched windows opened out onto the canal below. On the water, gondoliers could be heard passing beneath the windows and singing, the sound of fireworks and revelry as backdrop.

"If you would like to partake in the food," said Castiel, "I will turn away, so that you do not need to reveal your identity to me. Knock on the table when you are finished."

The young man nodded, and Castiel did as he had said.

Castiel was patient, but he was already hard in expectation of what the evening would bring.

There were a few knocks at the table.

When Castiel turned around again, the young man had disrobed completely, but the _moretta_ mask was back in place.

Castiel had to get control of himself, and let his breath out on a shudder.

This man's body was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. And he had seen quite a lot, over the years.

"Do you understand what we are about to do?" asked Castiel. "Nod, if you understand and consent."

The man did so, his own erection making it clear that he understood the kind of transaction that was about to take place.

"Then get onto the bed. On your hands and knees."

The man gave another sharp nod, and did as he was told.

Castiel took his time, drinking in the image as he slowly began to undress himself- although he, too, kept his own mask in place. The night had grown quite late, and the sun was making itself known on the horizon. His rooms were painted a buttery golden-yellow that always began to glow in the morning light. This was usually quite beautiful, but on this man's skin, it was divine. 

Castiel knelt behind him on the bed, and caressed his skin, body lit up softly in the golden morning light. He began to work him open, aware of the muffled little sounds the man was making, the quiet noise of his precome pattering onto the duvet beneath them. 

Carnevale was loud. Venetian mornings, on the other hand, were silent, as the water passed as it always had for centuries in the canals beneath the windows and the balconies of the city, and the sun warmed the wintry streets.

Castiel slowly became aware of the strange little sounds he was making himself, as he prepared this man to take him. He tried to hold them back when he realized, but found it impossible. There was something about this man, in his obedient silence, that reminded him of the penitent.

That reminded him of _faith._

Castiel lined himself up and pushed inside, jackknifing forward, nearly touching the other man's spine, as he was overwhelmed by the impossible heat. The man moaned behind the bit in his mouth, but held onto the mask resolutely. Castiel smoothed his hands along the other man's back and panted harshly. This was the first time in a very, very long time that he had nearly lost his composure during sex - an act that had long since become routine to him.

But here, in the warm golden glow of this one particular Carnevale morning, that seemed no different to those that had gone before, to those that would happen in the future -

something reached deep inside of Castiel, and _tugged._

He tried to set an easy pace, he really did. But he felt off-kilter, out of his mind; like something had kicked out his legs from underneath him. He was wild, and unrestrained, and desperate, as if he could find something he had long lost by finding completion with this utter stranger. His strangled cries, his intense desire like a dagger through his midsection, his teeth nearly cracked to bleeding with how hard he was clenching them -

and he forgot himself entirely, of course, and the man looked back at him -

to see those enormous, dusky wings, stretched high and proud and claiming over them both. 

The man let out a muffled shout of shock, and his green eyes widened as he stuttered and came all over the bedspread, and Castiel's hands gripped so tight at his hips they would bruise as the angel roared his completion and his claim, his wings slamming down onto the marble floor and ricocheting, echoing in the still silence that was immediately filled with the sound of flowing water beneath the windows.

Castiel pulled out, turning away from the young man, although it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He could sense the silence, the confusion, the acceptance of rejection from the other man, whose hesitant questions crowded his tongue, never voiced, because -

"Get out."

Castiel sat hunched at the side of the bed, _knowing_ this man was looking at the joints of his mighty wings, the wings that grew out of his back and were not a Carnevale trick, those wings that made Castiel _different_ , _inhuman._

He knew, also, that the man could not argue or respond, lest he let go of his mask and reveal his identity.

Castiel had never been so foolish before. He had never let a human see his wings. But then - he had never been so _wild._

He wondered, briefly, what it was about this particular human, before stuffing it down and away, with all the other questions, all the other hurts.

"Did you not hear me?" Castiel barked. "You got what you came for. Now go."

Castiel could sense, too, the very human desire in the other man to say _no,_ to stay, to comfort this man - this _creature_ \- with whom he had shared a night of Carnevale, before the bitter anger of rejection washed over him, which was the thing Castiel was waiting for.

He heard, because Castiel had excellent hearing, the man's teeth tighten around the bit in his mask.

_There it is,_ thought Castiel, in vicious triumph, as the man turned away. His footsteps echoed down the marble stairs and out into the street.

Castiel sighed, and stared out at Venice waking up for another day of celebration.

The angel did not matter, in the grand scheme of things, to this city. Nor did his conquest.

So why, he wondered, did he feel as if there had been a fundamental shift in the universe, because he had shared a night much like any other, with this man who had no face?


	3. Unmask

**_He saw you. The_ real _you._**

The thought rattled around Castiel's head until he thought he might go mad with it. 

**_How disgusted must he be, to have been with such an inhuman thing?_ **

In the golden glow of the morning in his rooms, a gold he had painted to remind himself of long-lost heaven, Castiel sat at the edge of his bed, hunched over in his misery.

His cock was hard, as the thoughts of the young man had not dissipated with the bright light of a February morning, and it hadn't received the message that the appropriate emotion here was _shame._

Castiel stared down at it, wondering if he dared -

and his wings bent forward, hopeful, the things that were the essence of him, the wings were far more _Castiel_ than the vessel of this body. 

But he hadn't touched them, touched himself in any way, for years now.

Centuries.

The feathers trembled minutely, as if they had a mind of their own, and were not a part of Castiel himself. 

His hands drifted toward them, yearning, yearning for that sweet release he had denied himself for so long. He ached to pull at the feathers, to run his fingers through their softness and pretend it was another touch bringing him to an ecstasy he had thought long lost -

but he froze, midway to the wings, forcing his hands into fists and then onto the bed.

Whatever sin he had committed to cast him here, he knew at heart that he did not deserve pleasure or joy. He deserved nothing but loneliness and pain, denying himself any luxury but that which he sought out during Carnevale-time, when the humans would not know he did not walk among them as one of them. His secret, during Carnevale, was safe.

Not anymore.

He willed his thoughts away from the young man as golden as the room that surrounded him, and his wings settled back, as if he could sense a resigned disappointment from them. 

Castiel had never been one to question _why._

If he had been cast down, he surely must have deserved it.

Some errant thought, some thoughtless action -

Castiel was certain in his punishment, though he knew not why.

***

When he had finally composed himself, Castiel dressed methodically in his usual costume for Carnevale, placing the mask over his features once again. 

He knew the young man from his tryst would be out there, somewhere.

He could only hope that he hadn't spoken of it, or at least, the other humans would not believe him if he did.

The angel knew that it would be far more prudent to stay indoors, to stay away from the crowds now that a human had seen the truth of him.

But Castiel adored Carnevale, and it was the one time each year that he could pass through the throngs of people without much notice.

The one time he felt that life had returned to him, diminished though it may be. 

For angels are of another plane to humanity, and their joys and loves are not the same.

Still, that taste of human freedom had Castiel throw caution to the wind. Angels are not solitary beings, and Castiel was well-aware that he had been called _the angel of solitude and tears_ since time out of mind.

He could still hear their prayers, sometimes. Barely.

Angels had their devotees, too.

His hand was on the latch before he felt it, like a blow to the stomach, the loudest he had ever heard a prayer. He doubled over like he had been punched.

_Angel of Venice_ , it said. _You got your ears on?_

Then it fell silent.

Castiel stayed exactly where he was, listening with all his might. He didn't know what this meant, but it was so unexpected that he couldn't help himself. His fading powers reached out toward the voice, loud and clear.

But all was silent.

Castiel sighed, and straightened up.

Perhaps he had imagined it.

Wishful thinking, after all.

He turned the handle of the door and opened it.

Then he stared at the floor of the hallway outside.

There, on the marble, was a golden _moretta_ mask.

***

Castiel stretched out a hand to it, his fingers shaking as his wings had done.

He snatched it up off the floor and immediately pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply.

A faint scent of honey, strawberries and spumante - and the scent of _summer_ , in a way only angels could tell.

Delirious, his expression stupid with a drowsy smile, Castiel's eyes drifted open.

_If you change your mind,_ said a hastily-scribbled note on the inside of the mask, **_I am staying at Hotel Dalla Mora, corner room by canal._**

Castiel stared at the missive as if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it.

He knew the hotel; a little 1-star affair near the train station.

A beautiful place, despite its humble nature, with a breakfast terrace overlooking the little canal.

It told him three things about this man:

First, he was not moneyed.

Second, he had a taste for the finer things, though he may not admit it out loud.

Third, he was the kind of man who was either logical and efficient to a fault, or one who knew the value of getting away, quick and clean.

Castiel gripped the mask tightly in his hands.

If anything, he just fell further.


	4. Water Festival

Castiel tucked his wings away.

Such things were more appropriate to the nighttime, when the feathers weren't so clearly real.

There was at least one man in the city who knew this wasn't a costume. But Castiel wanted to keep it that way.

He emerged into the little sidestreet from his rooms, and was swept up in the crowd. He knew where they were headed; it was where he was heading, too.

The opening of Carnevale often enjoyed, on the following morning, the water parade down the Grand Canal. This was a spectacular thing to witness, and in all the centuries of Castiel's existence, it had not failed to impress.

Gondolas and other vessels filled the canal, people in all kinds of outrageous costumes aboard all types of watercraft, waving at the crowds that filled the shoreline and the bridges. Many of the boats were made up to look like various animals. People laughed and shouted at each other from the shore to the water in all kinds of languages.

The Carnevale of Venice was an event that attracted the whole world. 

Castiel did not often feel grateful, or fortunate.

But to witness such human ingenuity and joy -

this was the one time of the year he felt, perhaps, his exile was a blessing, and not a curse.

_How wonderfully, and fearfully made._

Some of the vessels on the water of the canal had wings.

The _pantegana,_ or water-rat, led the silent gondolas through the green water that slipped softly against the ancient stone walls of the buildings along either side of the canal. A loud Italian song reverberated across the water, and the people on the boats were laughing and clapping and singing along.

This was the morning-parade on the water.

There would have been an evening parade too, complete with the fireworks that Castiel had seen from his vantage point near his own rooms, and the Carnevale-cake stall -

but of course, he had been otherwise occupied.

Now, he let a rare smile cross his features, as he watched humanity do what it does best, when the best of them are involved -

celebration of life, and the excess of a party.

Carnevale could now begin in earnest.

And if someone had asked Castiel whether he searched the banks of the canal, the throngs of people crowding the edges, for a man with green eyes and the scent of summer -

well, he wouldn't have denied it.

***

Madness, it seems, comes to angels too.

Otherwise, why would Castiel find himself closer and closer to the humble hostelry of Hotel Dalla Mora, if he was truly walking aimlessly through Carnevale crowds, as he insisted to himself in his own mind?

Why had he passed up some of his favorite haunts, where he drank bellinis without tasting them, just to feel as if he were a part of this eternal place, and not a ghost illuminating it for a moment with the shadows of his wings?

_Stupid. Foolish._

Castiel had words like this for himself, and a hundred others besides.

And yet he found himself standing in front of the doorway, cursing himself, unable to look away, drawn inexorably toward the golden glow of the young man with whom he had shared a single tryst.

 _Carnevale brings out the mystery-lover in us all,_ thought Castiel, as he opened the door.

 _There is something in the air that makes drunkards of us all,_ he mused as he mounted the stairs.

 _What fools we angels are,_ he thought, as if he had spoken to another of his kind in less than five centuries.

What angels were like these days was anybody's guess, and certainly not Castiel's.

He found himself in front of the corner room overlooking the canal, hand poised to knock on the wooden door.

It opened -

and standing there was a handsome man the likes of which Castiel had not seen in roughly the same amount of time since he had spoken to another angel -

all foxy-featured and improbably tall, clean-limbed and strong -

"Yes?" asked the man, in English, and Castiel's illusions crashed down around him and shattered.

For a man as beautiful as the one of gold he had shared the night with -

another human just as beautiful, as beautiful as this one was -

surely this was the man his young golden lover had chosen.

Castiel just stared.

Then he shook himself.

"My mistake," he muttered, and made his excuses, and fled.

***

Castiel sat by the canal in front of a favorite restaurant, nursing his wounds.

He had always loved this little place, run by an Italian grandmother who doted on him when he turned up. She assumed he was just some lonely young man with no one else to talk to -

and, apart from the _young_ aspect, she was right.

Little did she know that he had been coming to this restaurant for many generations, and that she had known him since she was a small child, growing up on these concrete banks next to the steps that led into the water. A Venetian upbringing was a unique one in this world, and none knew that better than Castiel, who had seen centuries of it.

So now, here, beneath the flowered windows of the old woman's restaurant, which would become her childrens' restaurant, where Castiel would return again and again -

Castiel sat on the steps and mourned.

Mourned for the young man he had loved and lost, and oh, how quickly had he loved! Before he had even known what visage to worship for the rest of his days. He blamed his loneliness and his angelic nature for his foolishness, for what human would be stupid enough to fall in such a situation?

"Hello, my angel."

Castiel started and looked up to see the little old woman standing beside him, wrapping the fence beside the canal with flowers. He had been staring so intently into the beryl green of the water he hadn't heard her approach.

"Hello, Fiametta," said Castiel, although it came out on a sigh.

She side-eyed him and grinned, as she arranged the flowers on the string.

"Is it a love sickness?" she asked bluntly.

Castiel's mouth dropped open.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, don't be stupid, little angel," said Fiametta. "I can read a man's heart as easily as the sign over the baker's shop."

Castiel shook his head and smiled a little.

"I can't fool you," he admitted. "Yes, it's something like that."

"Then don't complicate things, and go find your heart," she said. "What's the use of being an angel if you can't do what you want?"

Now Castiel really stared at her. She clicked her tongue at him.

"You think I am stupid like you?" she asked. "Or my family? You've been around for generations, Castiel. We think of you as our good luck charm, our guardian angel. Though we've always known you're not ours, are you? But we've borrowed you, for a time. Until you can find out who you're really meant to be a guardian angel for, and I don't think they can begrudge us that. You find an angel, you keep him. You understand?"

Today was a day for surprises, it seemed. He just laughed.

"I really can't get one over on you," he said, a little stunned. She nodded sagely.

"And since I know everything," she said, "you take my advice. Stop mooning around here, angel. Go find your heart."

Castiel stood, and brushed himself off.

"Thank you, Fiametta," he said. He kissed her cheek.

She blushed cherry-red and waved him off.

"You go," she said. "And you bring them back for pasta and cocktails, you hear me?"

Castiel grinned and nodded.

"Promise," he told her, and was absorbed into the crowd once again.

Fiametta's words had given him strength to overcome his own doubt in himself.

But where was he to find this man who had captivated him so?

And once found, how to win the favor of a man who was wooed by such demigods as the one he had found at the hotel?

Castiel did not have the answers to these questions.

But he now had the determination to see this through to the end.

After so many centuries, this was the first time his head had been turned at all.

So how could he turn his back on the possibility that something more was held within the hands of his young lover -

something more than Castiel's heart, which was already tenderly cradled there.

Castiel could only hope that he would be careful with it, once found.


	5. Perfect Venice Moment

Castiel was not certain how to make contact with the young man of the previous evening. Having struck out at his hotel - which, to be honest, was a failing on Castiel's part - the angel roamed the streets of Venice aimlessly.

He was determined, but had not yet got up the courage to return to the hotel and face down the man he had met at the doorway-

perhaps to duel for the affections of his mysterious lover, perhaps to make his excuses and run.

Again.

But he could not face these possibilities. Not yet.

He told himself sternly, _if you do not, you will miss your chance._

_And haven't you been lonely long enough?_

Suddenly, in the midst of revelers milling around in some square of which Castiel did not know the name, that _scent_ assailed him.

_Summertime. Freshly cut grass. Flowers._

He would know it anywhere.

Castiel searched the crowd, desperate.

Perhaps his lover had found another mask to replace the _moretta_ , making this a difficult task indeed.

He raised his head and lightly sniffed the air.

Once the wind had turned, the man would be gone. It was only due to his angelic senses that he caught that familiar scent at all.

Then, finally -

he saw a young man in a Renaissance costume, with a bare face, sitting on the steps of a church and clutching a long loaf of bread in one hand, a small wheel of brie cheese in the other, and an open bottle of spumante sitting beside him. 

Castiel was arrested.

The man was utterly beautiful.

So much so that Castiel was reminded of human fairy tales.

The young man was alternating pulling pieces of cheese to fit onto the pieces of bread he tore off the loaf, eating this humble meal with evident enjoyment and a starry look in his eyes. From time to time, he lifted the bottle and drank, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Castiel knew that look. Those who were in Venice for the first time usually had it, that sense of amazement at the fact they were there at all, sharing the history of thousands who had gone before them. 

But the real truth in that look, which Castiel had seen a thousand times, was that _Venice really does look like that. Venice really is magical._

He'd always loved to see that look on people. The people who would come to realize that each time they visited the city, they awaited that _perfect Venice moment_ -

and, as she always had, Venice would provide.

Bellinis at sunset as the gondolas bobbed up and down on the water.

Sharing a meal of some of the best Italian food in the world, a cuisine that shifted flavors as every bite melted in your mouth, and the fact that it was _Venice_ made obvious by the canal flowing past the restaurant window.

Castiel understood that this young man was having his first _perfect Venice moment_ , but he could not help himself.

He hoped that his arrival would not ruin it.

"Excuse me," said Castiel, and then bowed deeply, because he figured that a masked man in a Renaissance costume at Venice Carnevale should do so, if only to keep up appearances. "I couldn't help but notice that you were unaccompanied."

The young man stared up at him, mouth in a little O. 

_Those lips were made for sin,_ thought Castiel. _That face is far too innocent._

And the hunger for the young man pulled low in his belly.

"It's you," the man barely breathed, green eyes wide and sweet.

"I sought you out at your hotel," said Castiel, deciding to get it over with as soon as possible. "But your door was guarded by an Adonis. I know I may not have his features, but I wish to offer you my courtship."

The young man stared at him, confused. 

Then he laughed, a sudden and riotous thing full of glory.

"Are you talking about Sam?" he asked. "Dude, that's my brother."

_Brother._ This made far more sense, thought Castiel. He hadn't seen a man of such great beauty in centuries, so it followed that these two were related.

The words he used sounded strange to Castiel's ears.

"So...you have no other suitors?" asked Castiel. The young man shook his head.

"Hell no," he said. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk like a book?"

Now Castiel was hesitant. He hadn't quite expected to sweep the young man off his feet, but this interaction was decidedly...different than he had expected.

"I can't say that they have," said Castiel.

"Well, if you're planning to _court_ me," snorted the young man, "I guess introductions are in order. I'm Dean."

"Castiel," said the angel. Dean inclined his head. "And you are certain I am alone in offering you court?"

"What, are you Jane Astin or something?" Dean asked.

"Austen," Castiel corrected automatically.

"Whatever," Dean replied. "Anyway, no, dude. There's nobody else. And even if there were, I'm pretty sure nobody could touch an _actual angel_ in a competiton."

"Oh," said Castiel, deflating. "So you did notice."

"Kinda hard not to, what with the wings and all," said Dean. "C'mon, have a seat. Good place for people-watching."

Castiel sat down beside him.

"You want?" Dean asked, nodding toward the food and alcohol. 

Castiel shook his head with a slight smile.

"I do not require sustenance," said Castiel. "But I thank you."

Dean sighed, content, as they sat together looking out at the crowd.

"Never knew it would be like this," he admitted to Castiel. "Ain't this place somethin'."

"I take it this is your first time," said Castiel. Dean gave him a sly look.

"For some things, yeah," he said. 

"And you followed me to my rooms because - ?"

Dean shrugged, tearing another piece of bread off and squashing a bite of cheese onto it with his forefinger and thumb, before popping it into his mouth.

"You were hot," he said. "And Sam told me that Carnival in Venice was a place of _hedonistic pleasure and passion_ since like...hundreds of years ago. Just trying to get in the spirit of things, I guess."

Castiel had to admit he was right about that aspect, at least.

"Did you know," said Castiel, "that this festival once lasted for six months of the year, and there were more prostitutes in Venice than festivalgoers?"

Dean whistled, impressed.

"Good thing I didn't ask for payment then, huh?" he teased, elbowing Castiel. "Then again, this town is expensive. I should start charging."

Castiel felt a pregnant pause between them.

"Are you low on money, Dean?" he finally asked. Dean grinned, and held up the bread.

"You think I'm sitting on the church steps eating bread out of a bag because I'm rollin' in it?" Dean asked. "Nah. Me an' Sam, we needed a vacation. Flights were cheap - and don't even get me started on flying this far, but Sam insisted, and when could I ever say no to that kid? Gotta admit, it was worth it. Even if we gotta eat stuff from the bakery or grocery store on the steps of a church."

Castiel was quiet, contemplating this fact.

"You don't seem all that surprised, learning angels are real," he said, taking a different tack.

Dean shrugged again.

"In our line of work," he said, "let's just say it comes with the territory."

"Your line of work? What's that?" asked Castiel.

"You got such a weird way of talking," Dean said, completely dodging the question as he took a drink of the spumante. Castiel read the label on the bottle, _prosecco._

_He must have a sweet tooth,_ thought the angel.

"First I thought it was an English-as-a-second-language thing," Dean continued. "But it's not, is it? You've just been here so long you forgot what people talk like."

"Have I?" asked Castiel, now really interested. "Has the time period really changed?"

"It's the 21st century, if that means anything to you," said Dean.

Castiel's jaw dropped.

"Oh," he said. 

"I take it you didn't know that," said Dean. Castiel shook his head mutely.

"I think I lost track around the 19th century," Castiel admitted, and it was Dean's turn to look astounded.

"So, uh," Dean coughed. "That thing about you being a real angel - "

"Is true, yes. I've been stationed here a long time. Or. Well. I was banished."

Dean gave him a quizzical look.

"What for?"

"I don't know. They never said."

The young man's eyes narrowed.

"That's not fair," he said. "Being punished for no reason. You shouldn't let them do that to you, Cas."

"Cas?" asked Castiel, secretly delighted, because he had been around humans long enough to know that a nickname indicated some level of fondness.

"Yeah, Cas," said Dean, not explaining himself further. "You shouldn't let anybody hurt you. I wouldn't."

Castiel didn't know if Dean meant that he wouldn't let anyone do that to him, or that he wouldn't let anyone hurt _Castiel_ , but he thrilled to the words either way.

"Dean," he said, teasing out his thoughts until an idea solidified in his mind. "You are not moneyed at all, I take it?"

"Is it that obvious?" asked Dean, rolling his eyes.

"Then in the spirit of my courtship," said Castiel, "I would like to make you an offer."

"If it's money for sex," said Dean with a grin, "especially sex _with you_ , I'm game."

Castiel could feel what might be called a _blush_ starting at his neck, if angels did such things.

Given Dean's reaction, a raised eyebrow and half-grin, as he stared at the place where Castiel would be coloring with pleased embarrassment - 

it seemed angels could blush in a way that humans recognized, after all.

But then -

angels and humans were far more similar creatures than anyone knew, these days.

"I would be honored," said Castiel, steamrolling over his own doubts, "if you would accompany me to the masked ball tonight."

Dean stared at him, shocked speechless.

"Aren't those things like," he said, his voice faint as he found his words, "super expensive?"

Castiel nodded.

"The theme is Arabian Nights," he said. "But whatever you need, in order to attend - I will help you find it."

"This is some Cinderella shit, Cas," said Dean, but his green eyes were bright with excitement.

"Does that mean you accept?" Castiel asked, surprised at his own growing excitement, looking forward to a magical evening.

Dean let out a breath on a laugh.

"Fuck, yeah, I accept, Cas," said Dean. "Who the hell wouldn't?"

Castiel felt pure joy flood through him.

He hadn't felt this way in centuries.

Perhaps he had never felt this way before at all.

It left him wondering if it was his turn, after all these years, to have a _perfect Venice moment_ of his own.


	6. The Gift of Venice

Castiel knew, although it had been some time since he had offered court to anyone, that it is best to use the things at your disposal in order to impress. Courtship was old-fashioned, and in their case, doing things backwards, but the angel hoped that Dean had already half-fallen -

because Castiel had already fallen completely.

He could tell, in the pull of his heart, and the way his thoughts were filled with the man's smooth, freckled skin, his green eyes. 

Castiel didn't understand it. They were, for the most part, strangers still.

But perhaps there was something instinctual involved, since Castiel hadn't needed to use his angelic traits in a long time. They, along with his overall people skills, were rusty.

He could only take it on faith. Perhaps, eventually, he would tease out the reason, but for now, his goal was only to wow this human into his bed again.

Castiel was pragmatic. Though his want was couched in a kind of mad love, he could not deny the desire that thrummed through him whenever he thought of Dean.

The reason may forever remain a mystery.

Castiel, dressed in his finery, mask on his face, sat back in the private gondola he had rented for them, and watched the stone buildings pass by, silent in the dark velvet of the night, as though Venice itself was masked for the festival. The angel held a delicate glass of prosecco, because of course excess and luxury were the name of the game, and he wanted to impress Dean. Picking him up in a gondola for the event of the year was sure to be a showy way to express his interest.

He regarded the arched windows along the canal with interest. Castiel had been here when much of this city was built. Of course, that was before his exile to the place, and he supposed he should be grateful that he had wound up in La Serenissima, the city of dreams, rather than the less charming places on earth. He was amazed at how long this place had survived. It was truly one of the greatest human wonders of the world.

It was places like Venice - the invention, the artistry, the innovation and architecture, to create such a beautiful and mysterious city - that made Castiel love humanity. That was their Father's instruction, after all, and he felt somewhat unique among the angels for taking it literally. 

Oh, there were other angels who had their dalliances, much like he had with Dean. And it was true some of them had fallen in love with humans, just as he was.

But Castiel also loved humanity as a whole. Their creativity, their minds, their beauty. They were rare creatures in the universe, and he felt somewhat alone as an angel in having understood their glory, here beneath the firmament of the Venetian night sky.

Castiel had been to many Carnevales. He had known many doges of Venice, had stood on or sailed under these bridges for hundreds of years. He had been intimately familiar with several people in the upper class of the city over the centuries -

and all, all, did not hold a candle to the magic of this particular Carnivale -

nor did any of those fine ladies and gentlemen, princes and wealthy merchants-

come close to the heavenly beauty of this poor young American visitor to the Queen of the Adriatic.

Castiel sighed, and trailed a hand in the water. What joys and delights might he show him? How could he make Dean fall in love with the city?

In short, how could he make him stay?

The gondola was approaching Hotel Dalla Mora now. Many hotels and businesses along the canal had landings for the gondolas and water taxis. Venice had no cars and the best way to get around town without walking was aboard boats, so places like Dean's hotel along the water had little docks or just openings out onto the canal where visitors could disembark.

The main problem with life lived in a city made of water was that sound carried.

"...the thing we've been hunting? And now you're going to a _party_ -"

"Can it, Sam," said Dean's voice, that voice that lived in Castiel's mind. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't!"

Castiel grinned. If only he had overheard such an obvious argument between siblings, he might not have lost his nerve before. 

He motioned to the gondolier to wait for his return, and the gondolier nodded. He leapt lightly out of the gondola onto the marble tiles of the hotel's entrance, cloak swirling around himself. He certainly hoped to make an impression.

Castiel bounded eagerly up the stairs, with a passing wave at the receptionist, as he knew his destination by this point. He found the door and knocked.

The argument still going on inside fell silent, and the door opened.

There stood Dean, in an outfit he had clearly rented -

a sort of shabby nomad's outfit.

His grin was nothing short of brilliant. It could have lit up the sky like fireworks.

"Hiya, Cas," he said. He turned to his brother with a stern look.

Sam's face was impressively put-out in a way that Castiel had not seen on a human before.

"Cas, this is my brother, Sam," said Dean. "Sam, this is Castiel."

"Hi," said Sam, with a kind of seething anger that made the angel curious. He bowed anyway.

"Enchanted," he said. He wondered if Sam was jealous. After all, the poverty Dean displayed must extend to his brother. "Sam, would you like to join us, too?"

"No thanks," said Sam between his teeth.

Castiel was even more puzzled now, so he turned his attention to Dean again.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Sure am," grinned Dean again, and did a little spin. "What do you think? _Riffraff, street rat -_ thought it was fitting."

"Rat?" inquired Castiel, confused. "The theme is _Arabian Nights_ , I don't know about any rats -"

Dean laughed and then whistled.

"Boy, you really are out of the loop, huh?" he said. 

"Most likely," Castiel agreed. "Although you are dressed similarly to a nomad, so yes, it's fitting enough."

"And you, what're you supposed to be?" asked Dean.

"A sultan."

Dean's grin was blinding.

"Of course."

"Shall we?"

"Absolutely."

Dean took Castiel's elbow, and waved goodbye to his brother, whose expression was still like a thunderstorm.

As they walked down the stairs, Castiel murmured in Dean's ear, which made him shiver.

"I'm sorry that I seem to have upset your brother," he said.

"What, Sam?" said Dean, with a little light laugh that was clearly meant to throw Castiel off some scent rather than a genuine sound. "Don't worry about him, he gets in moods sometimes. Hey, where you goin', the street's that way."

"I know it is," said Castiel, confident, steering Dean towards the canal entrance where the gondola was waiting.

Dean stopped stock-still on the landing.

He seemed to have trouble speaking.

Castiel had to admit, it was a hell of an image.

The black gondola filled with flowers, champagne and antipasti, miniature Italian delicacies both savory and sweet, set the foreground, while the water reflected the soft orange lights like a constellation made by the city itself, with a backdrop of ancient stone buildings and the distant revelry of Carnevale celebrations.

Lightly, it began to snow.

"Dean?" 

Dean let out a shuddering breath.

"Wow," he said. "You gonna show me a whole new world, Cas?"

"If you'll let me."

Castiel boarded the gondola and offered his hand.

Dean seemed frozen in contemplation for a moment, and then he put his hand in Castiel's.

"Hell yeah, I will," he said. "Best one-night stand of my life."

And with assistance, Dean managed to sit down in the boat, garlanded with flowers, and to eat and drink of Castiel's gifts, as the gondola slid forwards into the water.

He stared at Castiel as if he had never seen anything so wonderful, as the angel poured him a glass of some of the most expensive prosecco made in Italy. 

The gondolier began to sing, an old Italian love song.

Dean looked as if he had been swept up in some kind of amazing dream.

Castiel watched as he leaned back against the little chair of the gondola, clutching the crystal glass in his hand, and watched in wonder as the city revealed itself around him.

Although Dean did not realize it, Castiel was giving him the gift of Venice -

the most precious gift, aside from himself, he could bestow upon another.


	7. Arabian Nights

The arrival to a party was much the same as it had always been in Venice, in Castiel's experience.

Gondolas, vaparettos, and various other types of watercraft moving through the lagoon toward Murano, all converging on one destination.

Of course, there would be other parties, other masquerade balls, throughout the Carnevale experience. But this one was special, and not only because Castiel was attending with Dean.

Dean was, in a word, mesmerized by everything. He had eaten most of the food and enjoyed quite a lot of prosecco. It might have alarmed Castiel, but his behavior hadn't changed much at all, so he must indulge fairly frequently to have such a high tolerance level. Of course, food and alcohol had no effect on Castiel, but he felt intoxicated anyway.

"What year is it?" asked Castiel. Dean gave him a surprised look.

"You really don't know?"

"No."

"It's 2001," said Dean. "A Space Odyssey."

He grinned at some joke that Castiel did not understand.

"So the century has just turned," mused Castiel. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, you seemed surprised when I told you," said Dean. "I thought you'd have gone to find out more after that on your own."

Castiel shrugged.

"Years are somewhat meaningless to me," he confessed. "I have been around for a while. In Venice, not much changes."

Dean looked around and nodded.

"I can see why," he said. "Not like you're seeing a lot of cars or anything like that. You never left the city?"

"I can't."

Now Dean's brows nearly reached his hairline.

"What do you mean, _can't_?" he asked.

"Part of my punishment," said Castiel. "I suppose it's a good thing I'm trapped in Venice, instead of anywhere else."

Dean cast a curious eye at the gondolier, who was still poling the boat toward Murano.

"Don't worry about him," said Castiel. "Known his family for generations. He knows. In fact, a lot more Venetians know about me than I originally thought."

Dean smiled at this and leaned back.

"Yeah, I guess having an angel around is probably seen as a good thing," he said.

"It is. The population of Venice is mainly Roman Catholic."

"Huh."

Dean seemed lost in his own thoughts for a while.

In order to drag him back out of them, Castiel spoke.

"What you're seeing now is exactly the same as it would have been hundreds of years ago," said Castiel. "This is what it has always looked like, attending a party in Venice."

This seemed to pull Dean out of his reverie, and that beautiful mouth dropped open once again in contemplation of the idea that he had joined the course of history in one of the most historic cities on the planet.

Finally, they approached the Glass Cathedral of Murano. Castiel told Dean as much.

"It was de-consecrated," Castiel explained, "and is now used for all kinds of events. Casanova was one of the many notable people who is tied up in the history of this place."

Dean was dumbstruck at this information, and at the sumptuous surroundings of the Glass Cathedral.

They disembarked with the assistance of a few _odalisques_ , servants dressed to look like harem attendants. They walked together through the arabesque archway of the cathedral, and even Castiel had to stop and stare at the magical surroundings.

The cathedral was dominated by a massive glass chandelier - fitting, as the island of Murano was the origin place of Venetian glass. The place was filled with set tables, and rich hangings creating the effect of an Arabian palace. As they entered, they were both handed a welcome cocktail, but Dean just held it in his hand as he took in his surroundings. Castiel sipped at his own, a delicious concoction that had little impact but helped create the festive atmosphere of the evening.

They were seated side-by-side at a table with other attendees, and that was when the show began. 

The rubbing of the _magic lamp_ brought forth the genie, who gave way to acrobats and fire-breathers, sword-swallowers and other amazing performances. Castiel was swept away into the current of imagination and revelry, only anchored to reality by Dean's hand, which had slid into his, held in Castiel's lap beneath the table.

Menus were produced, and they were asked to choose from fish or vegetarian. Dean was overwhelmed by the choices on offer, so Castiel chose on his behalf, as he did not believe that his companion was vegetarian. The waiters whisked the menus away and vanished as the spectacular continued.

Eventually, Castiel's attention was held more by Dean's upturned face, the low blue lighting and the frequent spurts of fire reflected on his features, as he stared wide-eyed like a child at the proceedings. Castiel was slowly beginning to realize that there was nothing more spectacular than this creation, the man who held his heart in his hand.

When the food arrived, Dean ate with gusto, as if he had never tasted such delicious fare. In some ways, the food itself marked the entrance to a magical world.

And, Castiel supposed, perhaps he had never tasted its like. Italian cuisine was something of a delightful surprise for those who hadn't enjoyed the real thing in its country of origin.

Once they had all eaten their fill, the Grand Ball had begun.

Castiel drew Dean onto the dance floor, and pulled him close.

They danced together throughout the night, Dean's head pillowed on Castiel's shoulder, hands linked together. Neither of them spoke.

Overwhelmed with the magic of the evening, no language seemed to have the right words.

***

The evening closed with another musical performance, and they were ushered back outside to the waiting watercraft. Dean, either with newfound confidence or the confidence gained from the free-flowing bar at the party, climbed into the gondola without any assistance. Castiel followed behind, and the gondolier pulled the vessel away from the shore, leaving Murano and the Glass Cathedral receding like a magical island in the dark.

"I have one more surprise for you," said Castiel. "If you wish."

"If it's anything like your other surprises," said Dean, "believe me, I wish."

"In keeping with the theme of the evening," said Castiel, "wish granted."

They shared a smile, and Castiel caught the gondolier's eye, who nodded.

***

Instead of returning to Dean's humble hotel, or to Castiel's own rooms above the canal, their gondola pulled up in front of another hotel.

Dean gaped up at the place.

"Holy shit," he said. "Cas, I - I mean, I know what I said, but - I just thought we were gonna go somewhere special for the sunrise, we - "

"We _are_ going somewhere special for the sunrise," he said. He nodded to the gondolier, as they drew up alongside the dock. "This is one of my favorite places in the city."

Dean swallowed visibly, looking up at the hotel where celebrities and royalty had stayed since time out of mind. He took Castiel's hand, who helped him out of the gondola.

They walked into the lobby, where Castiel spoke a few words in Italian to the receptionist. Dean stared at him, looking as if he might swoon with the beauty of the foreign language, and that Castiel spoke it - unsurprisingly, since he had lived here for hundreds of years, but then Castiel had always heard that Americans loved accents and the ability of other people to speak foreign languages. He didn't know if it was an attraction to competency, intelligence, or worldliness, but Dean's expression told him that what he had heard was correct.

Dean just stared at his surroundings, as if he couldn't quite figure out whether or not he was in a dream.

"Welcome to the Hotel Danieli," murmured Castiel in Dean's ear, as he took his hand and pressed in close.


	8. The Hotel

Dean stood silent and still at the threshold of the room.

"It's yours, my love," murmured Castiel at his shoulder, before he could catch the word _love_ as it passed his lips.

But Dean hadn't noticed; he was rooted to the ground where he stood.

Beyond Dean's shoulder, Castiel could see the extravagant splendor of the room laid out before them. It was his favourite in Venice, and he did not splash out all that often. But when he did, he always returned to this place. Its sheer timeless beauty was like a soft and strange dream.

The opulent decor was common in many Venetian _palazzos_ across the city and across time, but this room was special.

Delicately scalloped arabesque doors supported on slender pillars, much like the ancient Persian reception hall of Diwan-i-Khas in Delhi, faced out toward the lagoon and the Adriatic, and a small balcony that held a table and two chairs. Inside, a sumptuous bed covered in rich red hangings and silks filled the room on the right-hand side.

As the first tendrils of sunrise made themselves known over the city, Castiel walked inside the room and stood in the doorway, pulling off his shirt and freeing his wings, which trailed shadows on the ground.

He looked over his shoulder, and then nodded toward the bed.

"Coming?"

Dean just nodded mutely, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him as an afterthought.

He climbed onto the bed, discovering yet another bottle of prosecco here, and rose petals, joined by Italian chocolate truffles that probably cost more than his yearly salary -

not that Dean needed to know that.

Slowly, the young man disrobed, and Castiel found him beautiful, in the oranges and pinks of the sunrise. 

"You remind me of an _odalisque_ yourself," said Castiel, approaching the bed.

Naked, the silk crimson sheets bunched up around his body, Dean popped a truffle into his mouth.

Castiel watched in mild amusement as he bit down, already knowing the delight of the softer chocolate and champagne inside bursting across the tongue.

He looked up at Castiel in awe.

"This is awesome," he said.

Castiel knelt beside him on the bed.

"I cannot say what dream has brought you here to me," said Castiel. "I only thank it, and hope never to wake."

Dean huffed, and cast his eyes toward the ground, apparently unused to this kind of praise.

Then he looked up at Castiel, a determined expression on his face.

"What?" asked the angel gently. "What is it?"

Dean waved a hand at the luxury surrounding them and shook his head.

"I can't give you anything like this," he said.

"Dean, you don't need -"

"But there is something I can do."

"Don't feel obligated - "

"First of all, man, _anyone_ would feel obligated if they got showered with all this stuff," Dean pointed out. "But no, it's not like that. There's one thing I know how to do, and do well. And if it makes you feel any better, I'll be getting something out of it, too."

Castiel leaned back and raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?" he asked, a little suspicious.

Dean stared at him for a while, then looked at his wings.

"Tell me, Cas," said Dean. "How long's it been since somebody touched you there?"

Castiel's mouth went dry.

***

"I don't -"

After all his confidence, it was Castiel's turn to look ashamed. He stared down at the red silk of the bed.

"Hey," said Dean gently, a light finger beneath his chin. "What is it?"

"They are," Castiel said, gathering courage, "the most - "

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall.

"They are the most intimate part of an angel," he said. "Ever since my punishment, I - I didn't deserve - "

Dean ducked his head beneath Castiel's so he could look into his eyes.

"What, you think you _deserved_ this?" said Dean. "And you don't deserve to feel good? Man, they did a number on you, Cas. And you don't even know why."

Silent, Castiel shook his head.

"Well then," said Dean decisively. "Turn around."

"Dean?"

"Just do it."

So Castiel turned, sitting on his heels on the bed, as the glorious colors of sunrise poured into the room. He held still, though he could feel his feathers trembling, and his wings slightly shifting back to the promise of Dean's hands.

And there they were, among the feathers, firm and soft, gripping and tugging gently -

that was it, that was everything -

the oils poured a deluge down his back, and Castiel was reduced to nothing, sobbing and begging and wailing Dean's name, cock tented hard in his trousers, spilling without his permission and pulsing -

but that pleasure was not the height of the joy of it, it was almost an afterthought, because the glory of Dean's hands in his wings -

wings that had not been touched in centuries, not like this, Castiel would not allow himself the indulgence -

the bed was drenched, and Dean said nothing, as Castiel was brought to heel beneath his clever hands.

***

Later, Dean lay sated on the bed beside him, bare in the winter morning sunlight.

Castiel just stared. He stirred, a little, exhausted as if he had done the seven labors of Hercules.

Dean grinned, secret and sure, then reached out to touch his cheek.

"You with me there, chief?" he asked.

Castiel finally managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"Yes," he croaked. "But aren't you - shouldn't I - ?"

"Believe me," said Dean, "you've done enough. But no, I - uh, while we were doing that, I kinda took care of myself."

Castiel gave him a startled look.

"You weren't," he began, searching for the words, "put off by my inhumanity?"

Dean gave him a puzzled look.

"Hell no," he said. "Why would I be? That was the hottest fuckin' thing I've ever seen. I'll be jacking off to that for months."

"Not if - "

"Not if what?"

Castiel sighed, studying the way the morning light hit his green eyes.

"You wouldn't have to," said Castiel, "if you stayed."

Dean laughed.

"Stayed?" he asked, incredulous. "Here, in Venice?"

He rolled over, looking out at the city waking up, the boats moving back and forth across the water. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, and hooked his chin over his shoulder. They watched the eternal world of Venice for a while, as Dean contemplated such a possibility.

"Never thought I'd be here, y'know?" he said softly. "Venice, I mean. At all. An' now I've gone to a masked ball and stayed in the world's most beautiful hotel."

He shuddered a breath, as if in the aftershocks of memory.

"And had the most mind-blowing sex of my life," he said. "With an angel, no less. I don't know, Cas. Just seems like a fantasy."

"It doesn't have to be."

"And what would I do with my days?" asked Dean. "For a living, I mean."

"You wouldn't have to," Castiel assured him, stroking Dean's arm with a whisper of his fingertips. "Or you could do anything you wanted, Dean. You wouldn't have to go hungry again. Or be afraid. I would be here for you, and you would never want for anything. Your brother, too, if he wants."

"Dunno if I can convince Sammy to chill out that much," said Dean, wiggling back in the morning's chill. "But it sounds nice. Perfect."

"Are you cold?" asked Castiel.

"A little."

Castiel folded a downy wing over Dean then, and pressed a kiss into his hair.

Moments later, intoxicated from the wine and the gourmet food, the chocolate and the lovemaking, Dean was lost to the world, and slept safely beneath Castiel's wing.

Castiel, who did not need sleep, watched over him, in the bright sunlight of the Venetian day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want an idea of how this hotel looks, check it out online! Hotel Danieli is an old Venetian palazzo and retains a lot of the old decadence associated with the city.


	9. Trattoria

The sun was setting as they took the gondola back to Dean's hotel.

"Sammy will be worrying," he said, and they bid the Hotel Danieli a wistful goodbye.

As Dean watched the gorgeous silhouettes of ancient Venice against the light of the setting sun, he smiled at Castiel.

"They really don't mind you using their palace as a no-tell motel, huh?" he teased.

Castiel allowed a rare smile to cross his face.

"Let's just say I did the owners a favor," he said. "Several hundred years ago. But in Venice, they remember. Memory is etched onto the very stone."

"You talk like a poem," said Dean.

"I thought you said I talked like a book."

"Yeah. A book of poems."

They sat in silence as the jubilation of Carnevale rose again around them. The gondola slid into the narrow canal where the Hotel Dalla Mora was located. 

Dean sighed.

"Man, I don't know how I'm gonna be able to go back to sharing that little room with my overgrown brother," he said.

"Anytime you wish to return to the Hotel Danieli, just ask," said Castiel.

Dean grinned.

"You sayin' _rub the lamp, make a wish,_ genie?" he asked.

"Angel," said Castiel gravely. "But yes."

They pulled up beside the hotel, and Castiel got out, offering his hand to Dean.

"Nah, I can do it," he said. "Think I've got the hang of it now."

But whether it was the slip of the tiles, wet with the water from the canal, or his balance, Dean suddenly wobbled and hurtled backwards through the air.

With a single wingbeat, Castiel was out over the water, having caught him by the shirt front.

Dean stared up at him with stars in his eyes.

"You saved me."

"And I always will. If you'll let me."

Castiel returned them safely to dry land, bringing Dean up to the higher step where the water did not reach.

"When can I see you again?" asked Castiel, hoping he did not seem to forward.

"Darlin', anytime," said Dean.

"I have a few things to look after," said Castiel. "But after that, I would be honored to take you to dinner."

A half-grin quirked Dean's lips.

"Another rich guy place?" he asked.

"No, quite the opposite," Castiel said. "Venice has its humble charms. If you know where to look."

"Then it's a date," said Dean, and leaned in to kiss him.

Castiel could have sworn, then, that Dean was the angel, not him.

Dean pulled away first, and hopped up the steps. Castiel watched him go.

Then he hesitated, and turned.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"You saved me, just now. By flying."

"Yes."

"Does that mean you can, you know - fly? Above the city. With, uh. Passengers."

A bright smile broke across Castiel's face like the white crest of an ocean wave.

"Yes, it does. Would you like to go flying, Dean?"

"Absolutely. I love flying. Never got to do it solo - if you know what I mean. Without machines."

"Then after our date, I will take you -"

"On a magic carpet ride?" Dean asked, that teasing tone sneaking back into his voice, although Castiel had no idea what he was referring to.

"I don't understand that reference."

"Doesn't matter," said Dean. "See you tomorrow night. And I'm gonna hold you to that promise."

"Any promise I make to you," swore Castiel, "will always, and forever, be upheld."

"Awesome," said Dean. "See ya, Cyrano."

It was Castiel's turn to be surprised. Dean grinned and shrugged.

"What? I read."

Then he was up the stairs and gone.

Sighing like a lovesick romantic, which he supposed he was, Castiel turned around and stepped into the gondola once again.

As the vessel plied the waters of the canal toward his own quarters, he considered what a difference a few days had made in his life, when the last several hundred years had all looked much the same.

***

Rather than face the wrath of Sam again, Castiel had a messenger drop off the address at Dean's rooms. Perhaps it was an old-fashioned method of courtship, but sometimes old-fashioned was beautiful.

Besides, it gave him some time with Fiametta, who was in paroxysms of delight preparing the most romantic table (the only one beside a window overlooking the canal and the outdoor flower boxes). 

"You will have a wonderful evening," Fiametta promised. "And sex later, yes?"

She squealed with laughter and Castiel grinned. Then she covered her mouth and looked Castiel up and down.

"Is it safe?" she asked, indicating him generally.

"Is what safe?"

"Well, you know. Your. Equipment. He will be safe?"

Castiel gave her a confused look. She sighed, exasperated, and placed the back of her hand against her forehead in mock horror.

"Save me from clueless angels, my God," she said. "Sex, my angel! Is it the same for you as for us? Or will he have to deal with, you know. _Equipment_. He might not be used to. You will not break him?"

"Oh!" laughed Castiel, sudden understanding dawning on him. "No, we're not _exactly_ the same, but close enough. He's already seen it."

Fiametta gasped.

"You naughty thing!" she said. "Well then. Let's just keep the home fires burning instead."

Then she went off singing a song to herself in Italian.

It was not the kind of song Castiel would translate for most audiences.

***

"Wow."

Dean seemed far more at ease here, in this tiny little _trattoria_ along the canal beside one of Venice's small bridges. The place was warm and cozy, with a homey feel, very much unlike the crazy opulence of the past few days.

"Glad you like it."

Dean sat down at the little table and nodded at the poster of Sophia Loren on the wall.

"If Sophia likes it, that's good enough for me."

Fiametta fluttered around them throughout the evening, as other customers inevitably showed up and filled the five tables in the little restaurant. Castiel and Dean held hands across the table, their heads close together as they talked together in the intimate surroundings. They shared delicious homemade Italian dishes whipped up by Fiametta herself, and bottle after bottle of rich red wine. Outside the window, gondolas came and went, pedestrians too, as the water of the canal flowed by along with the time.

It was quite late, and the place was still full; Venice did not close early, especially during Carnevale.

"I'm gonna hit the head," said Dean. "Be right back."

He pushed his chair out and walked toward the back, apparently having a hard time taking his eyes off Castiel, who watched him go with a little smile on his face.

The chair scraped back and someone sat down in it heavily.

Castiel turned to see Sam. 

His face was not any more welcoming than it had been the other day.

Castiel felt his joy receding like the tides.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Wining and dining my brother. What's your angle?"

Oh. So this was a family member concerned about his intentions. Perhaps Castiel should have asked Sam's permission before he began. That used to be the proper way of things. He had forgotten.

"My apologies," said Castiel. "I would have asked your permission, but did not realize I needed it. Some customs have fallen by the wayside, some have not. I assure you that it was an oversight. Sam, may I have permission to court your brother?"

Sam, who looked as if he had been spoiling for a fight, opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish.

"What?" he finally landed on.

"It is custom, yes?" Castiel asked, now concerned he was less treading water here than drowning. "To ask permission?"

"Huh," said Sam. "Long time ago, yeah. But not these days."

Castiel was more confused than ever.

"Then what are you doing here, Sam?"

The young man's eyes narrowed, but he seemed uncertain now. Not quite the belligerent he had first appeared.

"I just don't think it's right," he finally said, as if choosing his words carefully.

"And why is that?" asked Castiel. "I understand that America has strange ideas about men being lovers, but - "

"It's not that," said Sam hurriedly. "I'm not a bigot."

"Then what?"

Sam studied the table beneath him. Then he looked up.

"We're hunters," he said. "And we've been hunting _you._ "

Castiel was none the wiser.

"Hunters?" he repeated. "Of what? What do you mean, hunting me? Like murderers?"

"No!" said Sam, a little too quickly. "Well. Yeah, maybe. From some points of view. See, at first I thought he was with you just to get close enough, you know? Then he was mooning around the hotel like an idiot in love. So now I don't know. But - "

The bathroom door opened, and Castiel looked in its direction, as he always seemed to have his compass point towards Dean. He wondered how he would react to seeing his brother here.

"Sam, I don't know -" he began, but when he turned back to face him, the chair was empty, leaving only a little wobble behind to say Sam had been there at all.

Dean sat down in his chair and grinned.

"So, what'd I miss?" he asked, and then took in Castiel's ashen face. "Whoa, what happened, Cas?"

Castiel gave him a long look.

"Tell me, Dean," he said, "what kind of people hunt angels?"


	10. Confessions

Dean sat there frozen.

"How'd you know?"

"Your brother was just here. I suspect that he followed us and then waited for his chance to ambush me while you were otherwise occupied."

He stared at Dean sternly.

"Is that what all this was to you?" Castiel asked, thankful that he kept the wobble out of his voice and his tears inside his head where they belonged. "Seduce me, or rather let me seduce you, and then kill me?"

"No!" said Dean. "God, no! Well. Maybe at first. A little."

Castiel shook his head.

"I can't believe this," he said, leaning back. "I will have you know, Dean, that you have put yourself in grave danger. I have been the guardian angel of Venice since time out of mind. They will come to my rescue, I assure you."

"Cas, will you listen to me?" asked Dean. "Please."

"Fine," Castiel replied. "You've got five minutes."

"I'll talk fast."

"Better start."

"Okay," Dean sighed. "Look, yeah. There was an element of that, at first. I kinda lied when I said we came here for a vacation. We're hunters."

"And what exactly is that? You have to be some kind of evil to hunt down angels."

"We don't. You're the first. We usually hunt monsters."

"And what has driven you to change?"

"Reports of a rogue angel in Venice," said Dean. "First night we met, I was going to see the _Flight of the Angel_ that opens Carnevale."

Castiel gave him a strange look.

"That's just a human on wires," he said. "Nothing to do with me."

"I know that now," said Dean. "Imagine my surprise when I ran right into you, wings and all."

"And this was the real reason you came back to my rooms with me," said Castiel sourly. "Were you going to kill me that night?"

Now Dean blushed.

"Yeah, at first," he said, and then in a rush, "but - I dunno, man. I just felt drawn to you, and I wasn't sure what I expected - sure as hell wasn't _sex_ , but hey - I've never been one to turn down a good time, no matter who's offering it."

Dean rubbed his face.

"And then."

He shook his head.

"I couldn't get you outta my head, man," he said. "Or my heart. So there it is. On the table. I didn't understand that _rogue angel_ might mean that you - you're just an exile, for reasons you don't even remember."

"It seems that you received bad information, Dean. Where did you say you got it from again?"

"I didn't say," said Dean. "Anonymous tip. But me an' Sam were hellbent on doing the job."

"Do you even know how to kill an angel?"

"We kinda make things up as we go."

Castiel sighed, burying his face in his hands. Then he looked at Dean.

"I, too, cannot get you out of my head or heart," he confessed. "Don't you think that means something?"

"Dunno," said Dean. "Never was one for magical thinking."

"I'm an angel," Castiel said, "It's about the only kind of thinking I do."

They fell silent then, as Fiametta brought another bottle of wine, all smiles, and left them to it.

"So what now?" asked Dean.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "But I think it is unwise to spend the night together."

"Agreed," said Dean, although he looked disappointed. "I think I'm gonna have to go have a talk with Sam."

"Be kind to him," said Castiel. "He doesn't know any better, and just thought he was protecting his brother."

Dean gave him a long look.

"You know," he said, "there aren't a lot of people in the world who would say something like that about a man who recently confessed his intention to murder you."

Castiel shrugged.

"I'm not people," he said.

"Ain't that the truth," Dean replied.

"You go on ahead," said Castiel. "I'll settle up with Fiametta."

"Okay," said Dean. "I don't know what this means. For us, that is."

"Neither do I," said Castiel.

Dean was slow to stand, and reluctant to leave, but eventually he walked out the door.

"Dean," said Castiel out the open window, where the flower boxes framed the bridge and the canal.

Dean stopped and turned eagerly, clearly hoping for some last-minute salvation, some reversion to how things were before Sam showed up and upset the applecart, so to speak.

"I want both of you to seriously consider what kind of person or creature would talk you into killing an angel," he said. "And what that might mean, not only for our own situation, but for yours."

Dean considered this and nodded.

"Good point," he said, and then was over the bridge in an instant as if he could not trust himself another moment with Castiel, drawn back in like a moth to flame.

Fiametta came over and clucked at Castiel as he stared out the window at where Dean had stood a moment before.

"If he leaves you now, he is a fool, Castiel," she told him. "That was my best whore sauce."

Castiel gave her a strange look, and she raised her arms in the air.

"What? It's an aphrodisiac," she said. "Any boy who doesn't like _pasta puttanesca_ is an idiot. You're better off without him."

"No, no," said Castiel. "He loved your food. But his brother came by and - well. Family business."

Fiametta burst out into smiles.

"Ah!" she cried. "Then he is a perfect man. Marry him!"

"You are easily convinced, Fiametta."

"What can I say?" she said, shrugging. "I love a man who loves good food."

Castiel laughed and shook his head. He sobered, as he thought of how he had expected the evening to go - and how it went.

Then he looked out at the water again, the green surface rippling from the many boats crossing the various canals, heavy with the revelers and visitors of Carnevale, troubled much like his heart.

***

The following morning, Castiel decided to take the proverbial bull by the horns and show up at Hotel Dalla Mora during breakfast.

He knew the breakfast was provided by the hotel, and many guests made use of the little terrace overlooking the canal in order to enjoy their food. So this was his destination, only to find Dean absolutely stuffing his face with miniature croissants at the breakfast bar.

"Have you tried these?" he asked Sam. "They're delicious."

Sam didn't answer, but his face flatlined as he nodded in Castiel's direction. Dean looked up at him, chipmunk-cheeked, and gave him a little wave.

After chewing and swallowing his food, he scooped up a ton of the little cream cheese triangles in one hand and some more of the little croissants in the other.

"Leave some for other people, Dean, jeez," Sam admonished him.

"C'mon, let's go outside," said Dean. "Everybody's out at the morning whaddayacallit, we'll be alone and can talk in private."

"I've never understood the attraction of morning events at Carnevale," said Castiel, shaking his head.

"That's because you're a night owl," said Dean. "Get it? Wings? Owl?"

He looked between Castiel and Sam, but they were glaring daggers at each other.

"Ouch," said Dean. "Tough crowd."

Then he walked out onto the terrace, clearly expecting Castiel and Sam to follow.

They reluctantly trailed behind him.

Sitting down at the table outside, Castiel finally took in his surroundings. This humble hotel still held a Venetian magic he wouldn't have expected. The light on the canal's green water sparkled in the sunlight, and the cool winter air was not biting here, protected as they were from the elements by the walls on either side of the patio. 

Dean chewed at his food thoughtfully, looking at Sam in expectation.

So it was to Sam he had to grant an audience, thought Castiel.

Finally, Dean's brother leaned forward, as if he had been fighting an internal battle.

"So get this," said Sam. "I think I know who - or _what_ \- was behind that anonymous tip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, puttanesca means "whore style".


	11. The Invitation

"Demons."

It was a strange word in the beauty of the morning's chill. Not one Castiel had heard in a long time.

Oh, of course he knew they were around, but as far as he could tell both they and the angels had been something of an afterthought for centuries.

"Demons?" Dean asked. "Ain't that a little above our pay grade?"

Castiel watched Dean inhale the little croissants and the triangles of cream cheese. It was impressive.

He let his thoughts wander a little to far about what other kind of uses Dean might put his mouth to, those soft lips stretched around -

"I don't know, Dean, it's not like we haven't hunted evil before," said Sam. And with a little smile at Castiel, "And there's an angel sitting at our table."

Castiel was glad to see that Sam seemed to be warming to him a little.

"All right," said Dean. "Demons. We know how to kill em?"

"Exorcism," said Sam. "I know it by heart."

Dean clapped his brother's arm and grinned.

"Knew all that studying would be of good use someday," said Dean.

"That mean you're okay with me going to Stanford?"

Castiel had never seen Dean's face fall that quickly. He surmised that this was a sore spot for the brothers, but anyone could see it.

Dean just looked away from the canal and stuffed his face. Sam muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"How do we flush it out?" asked Sam, just as a hunter would. 

"You don't," said Castiel. "They come to you, for the most part."

Dean swallowed his food. Castiel could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.

"Then we're sitting ducks," said Dean. "Ain't gonna sit around here waiting to be offed, that's for sure."

"Yeah? And what do you want to do while we wait? It's not like we have guns here, Dean."

"If I may," Castiel interjected. "I've been showing Dean some of the delights of Venice, and Carnevale."

"I'm sure you have," said Sam with a knowing grin.

"The city and the festival, I mean," Castiel told him. "I would be honored to show you both some of my favorite haunts. And - "

He drew tickets from his breast pocket.

"If you're interested," said Castiel. "I have three tickets to _Ballo Tiepolo -_ a masquerade ball which takes place tonight. And I couldn't truly pursue my courtship if I also did not impress the family of my intended."

Castiel handed a ticket to each brother. Sam stared down at it, speechless.

"This guy is like, _swimming_ in money," said Dean. "Like Scrooge McDuck."

Castiel laughed.

"I don't know who this "duck" is," he said, making air quotes, which seemed to delight Dean to no end, "but my wealth is entirely woven into the tapestry of this city, the people and the history. As I told you before - Venice remembers. Everything. Every footstep that has walked here, on its old stones, for hundreds of years."

"So it's not _money_ , but something like an _interconnected network of favors,_ " mused Sam.

Castiel gave a slight shrug.

"Something like that," he said. "I don't take too much, and am usually fairly Spartan in my living arrangements. But Carnevale - "

" - is a time of excess," said Sam, grinning now, getting it.

"I am the guardian angel of Venice, after all."

Sam looked up from the ticket.

"You know what, Castiel?" Sam said. "I accept."

Dean, who had been watching this exchange, broke out in a smile.

***

They spent the day together then, moving through the crowds which had gotten even more packed within the last few days because people wanted to savor every morsel that Carnevale had to offer, and the festival was the excess before the severity of Lent.

They had ice cream cones topped with ice cream shaped like a rose with green, red, and black petals. They had sandwiches stuffed with so much cheese or chicken they bowed out in the middle. Dean declared that it was the most delicious sandwich he had ever eaten.

Castiel didn't take him all that seriously. Dean declared something the most delicious every single day. 

But as he watched the brothers interact with fondness in his heart, he understood anyway.

Venice was the kind of place that did that to a person.

And an angel.

Ice cream was sweeter, food more satisfying, everything was an epicurean delight. There was just something magical about Venice, and he had lived here in the city for hundreds of years, so the shine should have worn off by now.

But it didn't, and there was always something more, something wonderful to discover around the next corner. The painted eaves of a church. The beauty of two women dancing with flowers in their teeth across the Piazza San Marco one day, overcome by the sheer joy of just _being_ there. The way the university students still created Venetian masks, like Castiel's extravagant _volto_ mask and Dean's humble _servetta muta_ , with crafts that had been handed down across the generations. The morning silence that lay against the stones.

And now, added to his bouquet of things Venice, watching two brothers laugh and joke together, a microcosm world of their own within the fantasyland of this city of water.

"Hey, Cas," Dean called. "Ain't you gonna join us?"

Castiel smiled, and did as he was asked.

He would always come when that voice was calling him.

***

For the first time, Castiel was allowed to wait at the Hotel Della Mora for the brothers to get ready. He had observed them throughout the day, and was surprised at how they seemed to move together in an intricate dance, not unlike a ballet.

Bookends, soulmates. The kind of people who fit together like a jigsaw.

Truthfully, Castiel wasn't certain where he could fit in all this, but he now felt a glimmer of understanding as to why Dean did not want Sam leaving for Stanford.

"Dean!" said Sam, with all the hype of an overexcited puppy dog, and brandishing what looked like a guidebook. "Did you know that _Ballo Tiepolo_ is one of the most exclusive balls that happen during Carnevale?"

"No, I did not," said Dean, smiling indulgently as he brushed his teeth. "Pretty awesome then, huh?"

"Dean, it's more than _awesome,_ it's like - we would _never_ be able to - " Sam said, caught on a stutter. "It's just _amazing,_ okay?"

"That mean you're okay with Cas now?" asked Dean. "Got stars in your eyes? Man, you're easily bought."

Sam gave him a grumpy look.

"Says the guy who slept with him _the first night_ before he even talked!" he pointed out.

Dean shrugged, a bright look in his eye. He nodded at Castiel in the mirror.

"Good thing I'm such a slut then, huh?" he asked, and winked.

"Whatever, Dean," said Sam. "It's still cool."

"You're right," said Dean. "It's really cool. I'm just givin' you a hard time. It's seriously awesome. You're the brains, I'm the brawn in this operation. That's why you do the research."

He walked out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, and ruffled Sam's hair. 

"You keep readin' up on it," Dean encouraged him. "I want to hear more."

And Sam was off again, their little argument just a normal tiff, eddies within the greater ocean of their relationship.

Castiel wondered, again, if there was any room.

His hopes of Dean staying here in Venice with him were fading.

But there was nothing that could dim his joy in being able to bring the brothers to the _Ballo Tiepolo._


	12. Masquerade and Flight

Candlelight suffused the room in a soft glow. The candles in their ornate golden candleholders sat on top of the tables, the light reflecting off the plates and cutlery, the crystal goblets throwing faceted light across the rich damask of the table.

Castiel watched Dean, and Dean watched Sam, who stared openmouthed at the utter luxury of his environment, from the rich golden wall hangings to the elaborate costumes of the attendees.

"What do you think?" Dean asked his brother, elbowing him.

Sam started as if waking from a dream.

" _Awesome_ ," he said. Dean grinned brilliantly.

"That's what I like to hear."

This particular ball was the perfect blend of lavish excess and rich surroundings, tasteful classical music and decadence. It was, in Castiel's opinion, one of the greatest events of Carnevale. When he was at this ball, it could have been any year in Venice. It was a comfort, to a timeless angel, to attend a timeless party that came close to matching the way he lived both inside and outside of time.

They were seated at a table with other guests, much like the previous party. 

A beautiful masked woman was giving Sam eyes from the moment they were seated. Dean grinned at him in encouragement, and then when the menus were brought, helped Sam to make his selections, since Dean was now a past master at all this Venice partygoing.

Castiel watched them with a fondness in his heart he could not describe. Certainly a love beyond words for Dean, but a sense of growing brotherly affection for Sam, especially when he saw how Dean doted on him.

The food arrived; it was excellent. Delicate white fish that melted in the mouth, sauces that followed the Italian gastronomic equivalent of a light show, changing from sweet to savory and back again on the tongue. All washed down with the choicest of wines, white and red and sparkling. After a time, Dean's focus shifted again to Castiel, after he had imbibed quite a lot, and now he was staring back fondly, too.

The band struck up, after the dessert - a delicious tiramisu that was as tipsy as some of the attendees by that point. Sam questioned Dean with his eyes, and his brother waved him away. Sam nodded and smiled, then asked the beautiful woman seated at their table if she wanted to dance. She agreed, and Sam was swept onto the dance floor with his partner.

Dean turned to Castiel and murmured low in his ear:

"You gonna take me on that flight you promised?"

Castiel smiled.

"Any time you like."

"How about now?"

"What about the party?"

"We can have a party of our own."

Castiel nodded, wiping his mouth with a fine cloth napkin. 

"Tell Sam to meet us at the Piazza San Marco," said Castiel. "The final party of Carnevale will be there tonight."

"You think he'll pick us out in the crowd?" asked Dean.

Castiel gave him a sly smile.

"I know he will."

***

After leaving Sam to the dance, Dean followed Castiel out into the night.

It was a chill evening, colder than any yet during Carnevale.

Castiel wrapped himself around Dean.

"Ready?" he whispered in Dean's ear.

Dean just nodded.

Castiel spread his wings wide, and within a few beats, they were rising into the night sky.

The angel wrapped his arms around Dean, palms of his hands on his upper arms, and twined their legs together with Dean facing downward. In effect, it was as if there was only one body rising into the air instead of two.

"Be not afraid," said Castiel. "I would never let you fall."

Dean's heartbeat slowed down as trust flowed into him, and comfort.

"I know," Dean said. "I trust you."

Then they were in the sky, and could see the bridges and canals crisscrossing the city below. Castiel rode on the updrafts, soaring across the firmament, as Dean remarked in awe about the various landmarks he could recognize from this vantage point.

The air was soft, if cold, so Castiel was able to hear when Dean spoke.

"I wanna stay," he said. "Here. With you."

The joy that thrilled through Castiel was palpable. Still -

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked. "Venice is not all Carnevale and celebration. There's the acqua alta, and the tourists, and the _pigeons_ -"

This last, Castiel said with such a hateful tone that Dean laughed.

"Will you stop trying to talk me out of it?" Dean asked. "An angel, showing me the best time of my life, and taking me on a midnight flight above Venice, and he's trying to talk me out of it. No, Cas, I'm sure."

Castiel's grip tightened on him, where his arm looped under Dean's armpit and crossed his chest, and his hand laid flat just beneath the shoulder of his right arm. He squeezed his hand against Dean's upper arm and smiled against his skin.

"What about Sam?" he asked then, to clear his last doubt.

"Well, Stanford's great and all," said Dean, "but then he found out that Venice has its own university, and believe me, the kid was over the moon. So he's staying too."

Castiel sighed against him.

"That's wonderful news," he said. 

"Speaking of which," said Dean, "we better get back before that chick eats him alive. Sammy's always had a taste for the wildcats if you know what I mean."

"I don't," Castiel admitted. "But you're right, we should be returning."

Castiel dropped low and circled above Piazza San Marco, until he was certain people were pointing upward at him.

"Whoa, Cas, what're you doing?" asked Dean.

"Do you trust me?"

Dean was silent for a moment.

"Yes."

Then Castiel came in for a landing, descending with a slow beat of his majestic wings.

Soft as a cat landing on its feet, he brought them to the stones of the square.

Applause and cheering erupted around them, as everyone chattered loudly about how amazing it was that this Carnevale had a _second_ Flight of the Angel, and how much better this one was, and whether it had something to do with gay pride since it was two handsome men.

Sam ran up to them in the crowd.

"When you said that I'd know it was you, I didn't know you meant - !" he exclaimed, all smiles.

"Best way to keep a secret," said Castiel, "is to do it in public. I've learned that here in Venice over the years."

"Sam, I told him we're gonna stay!" said Dean.

"Are you sure, Sam?" Castiel inquired. "I don't want you to feel obligated, or to abandon your education."

"Yeah," said Sam, with so much enthusiasm Castiel's doubts vanished. "University here, in one of the world's oldest cities? Are you kidding? I'm gonna drink chocolate along the canals every day and learn the law in the most historic place I've ever been! I mean, just the _history_ in this place is - "

"Castiel."

A voice, sharp and clear, rang out across the crowd, which had already come together. Now it parted again.

Castiel turned. It had been a long, long time, but -

he knew that voice.


	13. Flight of the Angel

"Naomi."

The crowd watched, spellbound, as the two angels met in the center of the space left for them.

"What are you doing here?" asked Castiel.

"I've come to take you home."

An audible gasp came from behind him; whether it was Dean, Sam, or some other person in the crowd, Castiel did not know.

There was something in her tone, in the blankness of her smile, that made Castiel suspicious.

"Is that so," he said evenly. "May I ask the reason why?"

"To be reset, of course," said Naomi.

Castiel's gaze hardened.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" said Naomi, her smooth expression beginning to crack like a Venetian mask dropped to the stones beneath their feet. "It's not as if you were inconspicuous, you know." 

She waved a hand in the general direction of his wings.

"My wings have been visible at every Carnevale for the last several centuries," said Castiel. "Wrong answer."

"Are you really that obtuse? It's the same reason you were exiled, _Castiel._ For _this!_ "

"What's _this_?" Castiel demanded. "You'll need to be a little clearer."

" _This!_ " she snapped, extending her arms expansively to indicate the crowd. "Your love of humanity! Your _worship_ of these creatures! You were exiled here to learn - we thought, with hundreds of years to see their excess, their decadence, their hedonism, murder and destruction and theft and sex - but _no,_ you had to _join_ them instead! That's right, Castiel. We've heard of your recent _dalliances_. I'm your friend, and I'm here to save you from yourself. There's something _wrong_ with you, Castiel. I'm here to make it right."

Castiel looked around himself, for the angry Venetians he had promised Dean would come to his rescue. But of course there were none, because this was Carnevale -

and one of Venice's problems was that there were _always_ more tourists than Venetians.

The crowd, comprised mostly or entirely of tourists, watched this impromptu performance, enrapt.

Naomi was older than him, and stronger. She was of a higher choir of angels. 

He absolutely would not win in a fight, and Naomi was not the kind of angel to care about civilian casualty. He knew, then, with lead in his heart, what his future would be.

But there _was_ something he could do, even if it meant sacrificing himself, and everything he had discovered, in this, the most wonderful Carnevale in centuries.

"If I may say my goodbyes," said Castiel, bowing his head.

"Of course," said Naomi. "We are not cruel."

"Cas, no!" shouted Dean, and Castiel recognized the figure of Sam rushing forward, putting himself between Naomi and Cas.

 _He must've learned that from his brother doing it for him over the years,_ Castiel thought.

"You've given up our world for these creatures?" Naomi said in disgust. "This man could not hold a candle to an angel."

"Yeah well, at least I'm not a bigot," snapped Sam.

"Excuse me, _ape_?" Naomi demanded.

"Don't call him that," said Castiel, going on a hunch.

"Why not?" asked Naomi.

 _She doesn't know their names,_ Castiel realized.

Then he knew what he had to do, though his heart was tearing itself to pieces.

"Come here," he told Dean and Sam. The brothers gathered around him. "Kneel."

Then softly - 

" _Please, it's for your own safety, and mine._ "

The brothers knelt down and Castiel put a palm on top of each brother's head.

"Cas, please," Dean said, and tears were streaming freely down his face, "we were gonna live here in Venice together, we were gonna have drinks at that one place where you said they invented the Bellini, we were gonna wake up and look at the canal in the sunrise an' meet Sammy after class, he was gonna drink chocolate -"

"Shhh," said Castiel, fighting tears himself. "Stop, Dean, or I won't be able to - "

"What're you gonna do to us - "

Sam put a hand out and laid it on his brother's arm. Dean calmed a bit.

"Trust him, Dean."

And Dean fell silent, as Castiel said a soft incantation over their heads.

All the crowd or Naomi could see was that an angel was clearly praying over the two men, as none of them had spoken loud enough to be heard.

The crowd was fascinated anyway, waiting to see how it all played out.

Castiel, for his part, said the following prayer:

_Father, I have loved humanity as you instructed. Hear my prayer._

_Let them forget, let them forget everything._

_Let the elder brother fear flight, so he will never return to this place where enemies may be waiting._

_Let the younger brother forget, and return to his life, to his university._

_Let them believe they have never seen Venice, or Europe,_

_or me._

This last, on a shaky breath, but Dean heard it.

"No, you can't do this to me," said Dean. "Even if you do, I won't forget you, Castiel, I promise. You said you'd always save me, you said -"

"I know, Dean," Castiel said, hating the tears coursing down his face, his neck and staining his costume.

And then, this last - 

_Let them be taken home, to their America, in their own clothing, so they never suspect._

_Keep them safe, my Lord. This is a hard, cruel world._

_But yours is crueler._

Castiel stared down at Dean with love, as his features went from pleading to vague confusion, and then consternation as Castiel spoke to him one last time:

"I love you."

Within that moment, and the next, the brothers vanished, as if they had never been there.

Head bowed, Castiel turned back to Naomi.

"I am ready," he said. 

Naomi smiled. 

There was no warmth behind it.

"Then come," she said.

"They thought you were a demon, you know," Castiel told her, as he went to her side.

"Yes, I did put that notion out there to throw them off the scent. Seems it worked."

Castiel gave her an evaluating look.

"I'm not sure they were wrong."

Naomi's mouth tightened.

"That's an awful thing to say," she said. "No matter. You're broken, Castiel, and you'll feel much better after we fix you."

"If you say so," said Castiel. There was nowhere to run. He had no choice but to join her, as they both lifted their wings and rose into the sky together.

For a moment, before they blinked out of existence themselves, Castiel looked fondly down at the city of Venice, a place he had longed to be able to leave one day, but never like this, and never for this reason.

He could hear the applause, and the fireworks, as the people shouted excitedly about the wonderful pageant of angels and faith, of hope and love, that they had just witnessed, and how this had been the best Carnevale yet.

Silently, from above, he thanked the city and the people in it, for teaching him things that had changed him, and that he would forever hold close to his heart.

At least, he thought grimly, as the city faded away and he headed toward his own oblivion, for as long as he could remember.


	14. Gold

_September 18th, 2008_

Castiel, along with his garrison, went to harrow Hell for the soul of Dean Winchester.

The fighting was bloody, and many were lost.

And there, a spark of gold, a circle of soul, crying out _here! here! I am here!_

Between the breath and thought of the next, Castiel dove, as his fellows screamed to him about his recklessness, as the fire caught his wings, burning them black.

And yet, he found himself stupid and desperate, to wind his arm around this golden soul with a passion that burned a red brand into it, an indelible mark of his angelic grace on this soul.

_I said I would always save you,_ roared something inside his Grace, inside his head.

_Strange,_ thought Castiel, as the thought that followed it.

The soul in his grasp was sobbing, which was not a surprise.

_I love you too,_ the soul cried, which was.

***

Castiel stitched the human together lovingly, each bone and sinew in place, each freckle restored, the deep grass-green of the eyes, the tilt of the nose, the softness of the lips. Castiel was a meticulous creator.

But for reasons beyond his control, and quite opposite to his own perfectionism, he left the brand of his palm upon the man's arm.

Then he rejoiced to the Heavens:

_Dean Winchester is saved._


	15. Story

A dark night, an abandoned barn.

Castiel entered, beneath a lightshow, and occult markings on the walls, to face the soul he had rescued from hell and reconstructed himself.

And then -

for a moment -

he thought,

_Oh. It's you._

Just for a moment, and it was gone.

He shook his head.

He introduced himself, and told Dean -

_You don't think you deserve to be saved._

Then and there, he knew something was different.

Inside Castiel, something began to change.

***

Over the years, as they fought against each other, then with each other, then side-by-side, then back-to-back, until they were as cohesive a unit as Sam and Dean were, until Castiel lost feathers in falling, until Castiel became human enough to hunger for food and other things -

and then angel again, then human, then angel - 

a revolving door of identity.

In all this, that golden soul, trapped silent and mute like a man in a golden _servetta muta_ mask, who could see, but could not speak -

that golden soul cried out, with each heartbeat that eventually spun out into years,

_Please._

_Please._

_Please._

_Remember._

_Remember._

_Remember me._

And the blue grace beside it, behind a high garden wall, kept reaching out for something it could sense but not see.

Whether the bit will be removed from that golden mouth - 

Whether the wall will be lowered or climbed over by the blue of that grace -

Whether, in short, they will find each other again -

is for the story of someday,

the story of maybe,

the story of if,

the story.


	16. Author's Note

I absolutely love Venice and I have been there many times. I am very poor, so most of Dean's experiences are the ones that align with my own.

Hotel Dalla Mora is still one of the least expensive options, if you want to stay on a canal.

I have never even set foot in the Hotel Danieli, or anywhere like it. I ain't that cool.

Bread, cheese, and sparkling wine is a good option for a meal if you're really broke.

Carnevale cakes are amazing, and are called _frittelle Veneziane, galani_ and _castagnole_.

____

The strawberries/chantilly/prosecco combination is a common dessert on offer there, usually served in a giant wineglass like a fishbowl.

____

Those mini croissants and cream cheese are awesome.

____

The restaurant that Fiametta owns actually exists, but it seems to have changed hands. Fiametta herself is my own invention.

____

Venetian drinking chocolate at a cafe next to a canal is a worthwhile experience.

____

And yes, I believe in _the perfect Venice moment._

____

My own introduction to Venice was during Carnevale many years ago. At that time, I didn't know anything about it, so it was a surprise, because I had no idea about Carnevale. My first night walking into Venice was during the festival, over a bridge, where I was met by many people walking past me in silence because they wore masks and could not speak, dressed in full Renaissance costume, in this beautiful city of bridges and stone.

____

Then, it began to snow, white flakes falling into the green water of the canal.

____

I fell in love right then, and I have loved Venice ever since. It is worth seeing, but it is best to see it at times away from the tourist season, unless you are going to Carnevale.

____

The things Castiel talks about are true - there are many dangers facing Venice, including overtourism (and especially disrespectful tourists), acqua alta - Venice is both flooding and sinking, and sky-high rents chasing out the local people so that Venice is in danger of becoming something of an empty tourist monument devoid of people.

____

And, as beautiful as Venice is, it's the people that make a place.

____

I hope you've enjoyed this trip to Venice, as sometimes if we can't travel in physical reality, it's nice to go there in books, tv, and film. 

____

The world is made better by dreaming.

____

Thanks for reading!

____


	17. Venice on the Cheap

Inspired by one of the comments, I thought I'd do a quick rundown on how to do this cheaply.

I've been dirt poor all my life, and functionally homeless for the last few decades. People often ask me how I do these things, because I quite literally have almost no money at all, and since it might benefit someone else, I thought I'd write it down here. Travel should be for everyone, and I hope this helps somebody out there :) 

**Venice on the Cheap**

The most important piece of advice I can impart is to live like a local. For example, you don't go out to eat every night at home. So you don't need to do that on a trip either. Think about what you would do if you lived there, and act accordingly.

Already in Europe? Awesome. Not in Europe? Get there via a budget airline (NorwegianAir, Qatar - while not budget - often has insane deals)

In Europe? Good. Check flights from your city, or a nearby hub city, to Venice (both airports) and Florence. One of these options should have cheap tickets via budget airlines like EasyJet or RyanAir.

In Florence? Now take the train to Venice. Bonus view of the Italian countryside! Be careful of pickpockets, or don't have anything in your pocket worth picking. This trip is about 3 hours long and costs roughly 9E. Trains leave Florence for Venice daily every 15 minutes.

Got to Venice? Great. The city has multiple different styles of hotel and hostelry. Hotel Dalla Mora is relatively cheap and has canal-facing rooms as featured in this story. By "cheap" I mean 50E per night, and they provide a large breakfast. You want cheaper, try something that isn't along the canals or is on the mainland, which has many more options, then take a bus into the city. Taking public transport is an important aspect of keeping things cheap.

A cursory glance at the costs for one night in Venice at a hotel are: 18E for a place in mainland Venice, and 28-30E per night on the island itself.

Now that you are in Venice: shop at bakeries and cheese stores. You can get a baguette for 1E and a wheel of cheese for 2E, a bottle of prosecco for 3E. There are other options, I'm just using this example because it appeared in the story, and you don't have to eat it all in one sitting like some people. ;) Or head to the grocery store, just as you would at home. Grocery store shopping is fascinating in a new place anyway, and it's possible to eat even more cheaply than that.

So, now you have accommodation, food, and drink. 

Venice has many, _many_ restaurants and eateries if you want to spend a little more at some point. But you don't have to spend a ton of money, if you go off the tourist path. The thing about Venice is that it isn't physically very large, but it's built like a rabbit warren. Once you get far enough away from the tourist path you will find the restaurants the locals use. Or you can head to the mainland or Lido if that's your fancy.

Gondolas are expensive. But the water taxi - that is, the water bus, which is a form of public transport in a city where the "roads" are made of water - across the Grand Canal costs only a couple of Euros and gives you the same experience of moving across the water.

This story of Venice was meant to give readers the sense of extravagant decadence upon which Venice, its reputation, and in fact Carnevale itself were built. However, if you don't mind a little spontaneity and creative thinking, you can do Venice on the cheap.


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